Page 13 of Follow Me Down

Titus fires the truck to life, the engine vibrating the seat beneath me. I snag the seatbelt and quickly strap it around myself as he pops the truck into gear and takes off down the long driveway.

The scenery looks different as we make the trip back toward Rocks Peak. Not that I got a very good look at it last night, considering it was dark when we arrived. Even still, with the sun shining brightly overhead the woods surrounding us look less ominous and scary than they did yesterday.

We drive several minutes in silence. The radio buzzes softly in the background, though it’s turned down too low for me to hear what’s playing.

I do my best to try and relax, but I find the further we drive the more tense I become.

“So, Link seems really nice,” I stupidly say when the need to break the silence becomes too overwhelming.

I’ve never done well in this type of situation. The silent, awkward kind. I’m used to talking, entertaining, creating conversation when neither party has anything they really want to say. To say I’m out of my comfort zone would be putting it mildly.

When he doesn’t say anything in response, I add, “He mentioned he’s lived with you for a few years. Were you two friends growing up?”

“Not exactly.” He blows out a heavy breath through his nose.

“Oh.” I’m not sure what else to say. “So then how did you two meet?”

“He stole from me.” His eyes remain on the road.

“He what?”

“He stole from me,” he reiterates. “Well, from my parents. He was running with the wrong crowd, found himself in a pretty bad situation, and needed to come up with some money. I caught him sneaking out of their garage one night with a whole bunch of my dad’s tools and shit.”

“So then how did you two end up being friends? If someone stole from me the last thing I would do is be friends with that person.”

“I saw him for what he was, a scared kid who was looking for a way out. I guess you could say in that way he was a lot like me. I gave him some money to settle his debt, a place to stay, the rest is kind of history.”

“I thought he lived with his grandma?”

“He did. But she passed when he was seventeen, leaving him with two options: go into foster care or try to make it on his own.”

“I’m guessing he opted against foster care.”

“Wouldn’t you?” He throws me a sideways glance before his focus goes back to the road.

“So have you always lived out here?” I ask in hopes of keeping him talking. He has the most incredible voice. I don’t even care what he’s saying as long as he’s saying something.

“No, I moved here a few years back.”

“So where are you originally from?”

“Atlanta.”

“Atlanta?” I repeat his answer. “How did you go from Atlanta to the back hills of South Carolina?”

“Long story.”

“I’ve got time.”

He thinks on that for a moment before he seems to relax, the tension in his shoulders seeming to ease slightly.

“My family isn’t your average family.”

“I know the feeling,” I murmur, stiffening when his gaze shoots to me. “How so?” I quickly add.

“Let’s just say my parents care more about money and business than their own children. My upbringing was focused more on prepping me to take over the family business than anything else. Which, much to my father’s dismay, I had zero interest in doing. My grandfather, my mom’s dad, was the only one that treated me like an actual person rather than a chess piece.”His story sounds eerily familiar.“So, when he passed away and left me his old cabin in South Carolina, I knew it was his way of telling me to get out. To live my own life.” He pauses, once again glancing in my direction. “When I was old enough and had the means to do so without any financial support from my parents, I did just that. I walked away and I’ve never looked back.”

“Wow.” I shake my head. “That must have been terrifying.”

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